The girl planted herself on the end of the sofa and surveyed her companion with grave eyes.
"I wonder on the other hand," she said, "if it would be perfectly horrible of me to send them away at once. I don't feel as if I can endure them another day."
"My dear," exclaimed Miss Gregson. "Just think what a terrible disappointment it would be to them all."
"But just think on the other hand what a terrible time we shall have with them! If only they were nicer children! They are little horrors."
"What can you expect from their bringing up? We should have thought of this before. How can children from homes where they probably only hear bad words and see drunken brawls, behave decently? And I must own I had quite a shock this afternoon. I have never heard such language! It was frightful."
"Oh, I know. They swear like grown up people. It's horrid."
"Poor little things! I feel we must do something to help them before they go away. I long to have a talk with them, but it takes all one's strength to keep them tolerably occupied. There seems no time to talk about better things. It must be done before they leave."
"Then it must be done to-night," said Sheila, "for I feel to be in a regular nightmare, and really I can hardly bear the sight of them. Do you suppose there are many such wicked children in the world? I have been appalled at the things they say."
"We can't let them go back without telling them of the Good Shepherd," said Miss Gregson softly.
"You are an angel," said Sheila, holding out her hand affectionately to her old governess. "You are only thinking of the children, and I am only thinking of myself. But you can understand how very humiliating it is to fail in this way. I hate to think of Peter knowing about it."